Chemistry
by SilentG
Summary: How much evidence do you need before you conclude that it just wasn't meant to be? Another angsty WAFF featuring B/A. Happy ending. Could take place Season 10. In fact, it might have just happened.


**Author:** SilentG  
><strong>Title:<strong> Chemistry  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> LO:CI  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> B/A  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Only in the bottom AN.  
><strong>Archive:<strong> Anywhere – no need to ask – just attribute, and let me know if possible  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine  
><strong>Summary: <strong>How much evidence do you need before you conclude that it just wasn't meant to be? Another angsty WAFF featuring B/A. Happy ending. Could take place Season 10. In fact, it might have just happened.

**A/N 1:** Re: Season 10: Can I say that I am on tenterhooks? Despite the positive signs, I am slightly afraid that they might sink the ship. My comfort is that I would find it odd that TPTB would take such pains to make it clear how lonely and alone Eames is without giving her a happy ending too. If it was all just going to be about Goren and his journey – whatever that might be – they could have just ignored Eames and not make us care so much that her circumstances improve.

~.~.~.~.~

Their first date wasn't going well. It was 8:45 and they'd resorted to discussing a case.

Not their own, one of the other open files at Major Case. Thank goodness for small blessings.

Bobby had picked her up at her apartment just over 2 hours ago. For a long time he couldn't have even imagined being there, outside her building, dressed nice, freshly shaven, with a little potted plant affixed with a bow. _Cut flowers are an omen of – well, they're bad luck in Chinese culture_. ~ _That's OK, I like plants better than flowers. Thank you. ~ You look nice. ~ Thanks, so do you. So what is this place you're taking me? ~ You'll see._

So, everything had started out OK. He could tell that she noticed the effort he'd taken to spruce up for their evening out, and he certainly noticed the flowy thing she was wearing that made her look so curvy and soft. And he noticed the happy smile that greeted him when she opened the door, one hand on the loose up-do she was clipping. _I'll be ready in five seconds… I just got a teensy bit behind, sorry. ~ No problem. We have reservations for seven-thirty, lots of time. ~ Reservations? ~ Of course. You know you could, um, just wear your hair down._ She'd glanced over her shoulder at him with such a sly look, the ripple of arousal had almost knocked him off his feet.

That sly look was long gone. So was the soaring confidence he'd felt gliding down the Grand Concourse with her – tiny and compact and admiring – in the passenger seat. She'd sat and let him open the door for her and hand her out before turning over his keys to the valet. She'd taken the arm he'd held out for her, holding on with just the right amount of pressure. Their steps had been perfectly in sync as he escorted her to the dining room.

Now here they were, after a delicious dinner that he barely tasted, discussing whether or not Jeffries had missed something when he'd looked over the LUDs.

"It's not like him to rush," she said, her voice cracking a little. She reached for her wine and took a big gulp, then coughed.

"He's, um, lost his confidence," he replied robotically. "He's letting Shasta bully him. I don't know why Callas put the two of them together… it's clearly a poor match." He blanched at his own words, and watched with growing despair as she seemed to shrink away from him.

It hadn't been pretty getting to this point, with him feeling sullen and contrary and desperate, and the woman he had loved for years looking tired and sad. The perfect meal he'd fully expected to be the harbinger of a new relationship with the most important person in his life now looking more like the bookends of a very short, very unsuccessful experiment.

_So, um, how's your niece?_ She'd asked as they stared at their menus. _She's fine._ He'd replied as the busboy lit the little gas lamp on their table. _What about, um, the rest of her, I mean your family out there?_ She'd continued after a pregnant pause. Looking at her over the sparkly tableware, it had seemed as though she herself was somewhat dimmer. _They're fine. Haven't heard from them in a while. How are all your nieces and nephews? _She'd tensed a little at the question, but she'd answered him, stumbling a bit over her words. For a long moment they'd stared at each other, Alex's expression growing more wary as he searched his blank mind for something else to say. She was uncustomarily quiet; had he expected her to carry the conversation? Had she expected the same of him?

He thought of telling her about one of the books he was reading, or one of the dreams he'd had recently, but felt too self-conscious. He didn't feel comfortable asking her the same… it seemed shallow and irrelevant. Pickup lines. But what _would_ they talk about?

Plenty, after their food arrived. _How's your carpaccio?_ ~ _Delicious, thanks. How's your puff pastry? ~ The best I've ever tasted. ~ Oh well, that's nice._

They'd managed to keep that up until dessert and coffee, when they'd been forced to admit defeat and retreat into work talk. Throughout it all Bobby had been feeling more and more helpless, watching Alex's struggle to find an easy pleasant rhythm even as he faced the same conflict himself. Two hours of this, it was agony. Where were the jokes, the looks, the easy silences? In his dreams, Bobby had imagined them coming together magically, their beautiful dinner like prolonged foreplay.

Instead he was insecure, at a loss, wretched… and afraid Alex was feeling exactly the same. Or worse, was she irritated, bored, disappointed?

Finally, she put him out of his misery. "Well, I'm about ready to go, how about you?"

**o.o.o.o.o**

He'd tried to broach the topic of their aborted date in the car, but she shut him down. "Alex, we…"

"I don't want to talk. Just drive."

So he did as she asked. Almost sick, he drove barely paying attention, only coming back to himself as he slowed down a bit nearing her apartment. He half expected her to leap out of the car and roll away in the tuck position, but she waited while he found a parking spot.

"You're coming in."

Why? Did she want to chew him out? Or did she just feel obligated? "Uh no, I think I'll just head out."

"Uh no, I think you're coming in."

He scowled at her, but she just arched a brow and stared back at him. He almost said something really rude, like _Well if it'll get you out of the car_, but that was just his disappointment talking.

He followed her tiredly up the four flights of stairs, 180 degrees distant from the optimism and arousal and anticipation he'd felt making the same journey three hours ago. Behind Alex, he got frequent glimpses of the smooth, bare skin of the backs of her knees as she tramped up the stairs, and wondered if he'd ever be able to touch them like he'd dreamed so many times.

They were silent as she unlocked her door. While she threw down her handbag and keys on the table by the door then strode in, he hung back, wondering how long until he'd be able to get out of there. Preparing for tonight, he'd imagined following her upstairs and being welcomed, maybe trying one or two of his smoother moves on her… Now the dim light felt oppressive and distinctly unwelcoming. Alex looked over her shoulder at him and unclipped her hair, shaking it out and closing her eyes as she massaged her scalp. He was reminded of how she'd looked earlier. Already she was starting to relax… anticipating his departure, no doubt. "Sit down," she said abruptly, pointing to the sofa.

He complied with a sigh, then sat staring at his hands while watching her out of the corner of her eye. She kicked off her boots, poured two glasses of water, and locked the door. It was when he noticed her removing her jewellery that he looked up.

She was watching him. The sadness and tension were gone, and in their place was a softness that touched both his heart and, regrettably, his body. He felt himself tighten with desire as he watched the delicate fabric flow around her knees, and her fluffy hair billow over her shoulders as she walked towards him. How he longed to inch his hands up those smooth legs, feel the curtain of her hair on his cheek and neck.

Imagine his surprise when she went straight up to him and, after a moment's hesitation, perched herself on his knee.

**o.o.o.o.o**

Her flowy skirt tented over his legs, and he swore he could feel her bare skin through the light wool of his trousers. The sensation made him dizzy and blew every coherent thought out of his mind. He closed his eyes and shuddered – _shuddered_ – when she lifted her cool, smooth hands to his face and cupped his cheeks. She began nudging and nuzzling his face with hers, while she held him fast with her strong fingers; Bobby felt overwhelmed, both with relief and arousal.

"Dinner didn't go so well," she whispered, "I thought we could try something different."

Then she kissed him.

When her lips touched his he felt a literal physical shock course through his body. It was all he could do not to jerk in surprise.

Her lips were soft and warm, moist from when she'd licked them, and her breath tasted of dessert and coffee and some other sweetness. She kissed him with her eyes open, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and nibbling it, distracting him with the sensation of her little fingers caressing his ears and delving into the curls at the nape of his neck. He dearly wished he'd loosened his tie before sitting down, longing to feel her touch on his shoulders and throat.

He was almost in agony with her tiny, tight body perched on his knee… he wanted to clutch her to him and mould her to his body and touch the bare skin that was enticing him from under her skirt.

Instead he simply reached for her waist, holding her firmly and pulling her slightly towards him. His action drew a murmur of approval from the woman in his lap, the sound of her pleasure spurring him to mimic the movements of her lips. He pictured her mouth as he kissed her, imagining the skin growing swollen and sensitive as his ministrations intensified. The thought aroused him unbearably, expecting a pleasurable surrender.

This was exactly how he'd hoped their date would turn out, his body taut and hard with anticipation, and her trembling and ready in his arms. And both yearning to yield.

But he couldn't shake the sting of their earlier failure. Yes, he was over the moon to know that their physical compatibility was so… encouraging. But you couldn't build a lasting relationship on just sex.

He found himself getting irritated at the woman in his arms. How dare she tease him like this? With exactly the scenario he most craved? When it was clear that their future as lovers was teetering on a knife edge. He pulled back from her and turned his face away. "Are you done now? Because I really think we should talk."

He couldn't look at her, but somehow he knew she was rolling her eyes. "Hmmm… no, I don't think I am done, yet." She leaned towards him, tugged his head until she forced him to face her, then paused with her lips almost on his. She stared at him, and after a moment's hesitation, he closed the distance between them and kissed her.

**o.o.o.o.o**

His kiss wasn't gentle and tender, as hers had been. He didn't waste time exploring the _outside_ of her mouth; he caressed the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue, sliding its thick length into her mouth when she opened for him. As he caressed her tongue with his, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he responded by tightening his hold on her with one arm, venturing with his other hand to the tantalising smooth skin beneath her skirt.

Close up, her subtle scent enveloped him, and her body felt hotter than he'd imagined it would be. Or perhaps it was just because it had been so long since he'd held someone. She relaxed against him and touched her own tongue to his lips as he began playing his fingertips over her bony knees. He begged his brain to recall every instant of every sensation, just in case this would be the only time. Surely she'd grow tired of the awkwardness that ensued when their mouths weren't connected to each other?

Again, his insecurity and questioning nature got the better of him. Alex had just moved her seeking lips to his jaw, tickling his ear with her breath, when he again pulled away. "Alex," he stammered, "Why did you do that?"

She sat up with a sigh and looked at him impatiently. "Kiss you? Because I wanted to."

"No, I mean, what made you do that?"

"Well, talking seemed to be bringing us farther apart, but I knew that whatever we were feeling about our date wasn't real. I was afraid after tonight anything else we said would make things worse, and I wanted to prove to you that we hadn't made a mistake when we decided to do this."

"But," he started, processing her words, "It doesn't change what happened. I mean, if we can't…"

"Can't what," she asked hotly, "Talk? We talk. All day. At work."

"Yeah, but that's…"

"Work? We talk about personal stuff all the time at work." She shifted a little and reached out to finger his tie. He felt the pressure of her hands tracing the patterned silk as if she were touching his bare skin. He looked down to see her staring at the wall of his chest, then held his breath as she smoothed her palms across his rumpled shirt. "Bobby," she said quietly, "There is no reason why we wouldn't get along as well off the clock as we do on it. The very idea is laughable.

"I mean, at the very least, we're both great conversationalists. I think we're just afraid to charm each other." She looked up at him and he saw the challenge in her eyes. "Dammit, Bobby, you're the most charming man I've ever met. Next week you're taking me out again, and I expect you to charm my pants off. I'll do the same."

The thought of charming her pants off was both arousing and challenging. "Why wait a week? Let's go tomorrow."

**o.o.o.o.o**

Alex insisted on going back to the same restaurant, and this time she insisted on paying. They dressed the same, ordered exactly the same food, but that night Alex spoke to him the way he'd always imagined she spoke to men on dates. She told a couple of funny stories about her family, complained about her boss, and revealed shyly how much her job meant to her. They both realised that it didn't matter that he'd heard most of it before. Bobby for his part told her a couple of corny jokes he'd been saving up, showed her their love horoscopes that he'd printed off the internet that day, and asked her to interpret the slightly racy dream he'd had the previous night.

Hearing her share herself in those simple ways, and seeing how she responded to his gentle flirting left him in an agony of excitement and anticipation.

Like the previous night, he drove her home and came upstairs. Unlike the previous night he didn't emerge until 30 hours later.

**o.o.o.o.o**

The next Monday, when Bobby fired up his computer he got a surprise. His desktop picture had been changed… gone was the cartoon a friend had drawn turning a series of Klimt paintings into ads for Campbell's Soup, and in its place was a goofy picture of two kittens wearing tiny goggles, sitting on a lab table with a bunch of test tubes and a Bunsen burner.

_Chemistry. We haz it, _the caption read.

When did she do that?

"Oh, LOLCats," the Captain said over his shoulder. "I love those."

At that second Alex strolled in, a big grin on her face. She looked straight at him and he felt such joy at her pretty smile, her swagger, at _her_. "Me too," he whispered.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2: SPOILER FOR FINALE: **OK, so, I just saw some pics of the re-shoot of the ending… Eames is wearing her gun and badge and driving the SUV, he's not wearing his cop gear. I'm afraid it means he quit or was fired, and this is goodbye. Looking at the pics with hope, it looks like he's going up the stairs, stands on the landing, then turns back as if to go down again. Hope hope hope.

WORDS: 2937 UPLOADED Tuesday, June 21, 2011

I will keep writing no matter what happens. Will you keep reviewing? Might as well start as you mean to finish!


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